A duty of care
by Republic of Yolossia
Summary: Stelios Angelopoulos was just a normal junior doctor. Popular with patients and staff alike, his kindness and peaceful nature have helped him through many a difficult situation in the past. That is, until he finds himself trapped in an inescapable nightmare, and forced to make the most horrific of choices: who can live and who must die. Cyprus-centric, zombie au.
1. Prologue

_Katya- Ukraine_

_Charlotte- Wy_

…

_Why yes, this is a new story. I came up with the plot earlier today and just had to write it. _

_Think of this as a Halloween special. It'll be gory, bloody and there's a fair bit of character death. It is also Cyprus-centric with no main pairings. Basically it'll be about as popular as a traffic warden with swine flu covered in wasps. But hey, never mind. It's just a bit of fun._

_Side pairings include Estukr, Sufin, and Aushun. They generally aren't focused on though._

…

There was no one left.

Katya sobbed and trembled in the corner of the classroom, surrounded by upturned desks and bloodstains. The drawings pinned to the walls were coated in the stuff too. Gore covered the carpet, trampled in by children who had fled from certain death only an hour ago. Now they were all gone. Had some escaped? She had no way of knowing. The monsters had killed so many. Katya had tried to protect the children the best she could, but most had panicked and ran, darting down the corridors in different directions and she simply couldn't follow them all. The ones she saw were soon either cut down or turned.

They just turned into monsters before her eyes, and her own students then tried to kill her.

So she'd run.

She struggled to quell her whimpers. She knew she had to be as quiet as possible because the monsters were still out there. Katya curled up tighter, hugging herself and sniffing. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her fingers covered in blood. Her tights were full of ladders and her jumper and skirt were covered in intestines from where she and a dinner lady had slipped, pursued by a drooling, growling co-worker. Her only saving grace was that said undead co-worker had gone for the dinner lady instead of her.

Katya wondered what her next move should be. Ever since she'd burst into the empty classroom about ten minutes ago, she'd just hidden, letting her emotions out and praying the monsters would leave her alone.

She glanced at the window, allowing hopelessness to wash over her. Of course she'd pick a room on the second storey! Maybe one of her students could make the drop, but she certainly couldn't! Should she wait for the emergency services? Should she make a run for it?

Katya wanted so much to believe a swarm of policemen and soldiers were already battling their way through the school to recue survivors, but it was a slim chance and she couldn't pin her life on slim chances.

Besides, there was something dodgy about this. All the fire exits had been jammed and the doors locked, as if someone had planned the whole thing. That thought terrified her. The idea that someone wanted to deliberately kill over a thousand children at once made her feel sick to the core.

It also made her realise she wasn't getting out alive.

Then she heard it.

Just barely on the edge of her hearing range, there was the sound of a footstep. Katya squeaked and curled up tighter behind the upturned desk she was sheltering behind. Another footstep followed, and another.

It started growling. As the thing slowly walked towards the classroom, she prayed the monster would just walk past. She was hidden. Surely the thing wouldn't hear her. It would just walk by. It would leave her alone.

Katya silently wailed. She didn't dare make a noise. Didn't dare breathe. The thing came closer… closer… it was right outside the door.

It kept walking.

Katya gave the tiniest of sighs, relief washing over her. The monster's footsteps continued past, growing ever fainter. She was safe for a while longer. She trembled as her nerves broke and she gave the tiniest of cries.

The footsteps stopped.

Katya was filled with a cold dread as the footsteps started up again, this time drawing ever closer. And that was it. Now she was sobbing audibly. Katya didn't want to die. She didn't ask for this! She wanted to go home to her boyfriend Eduard and their goldfish and a warm cup of coffee. Why was this happening?

The thing was outside the door now, and Katya gathered her senses together long enough to stop blubbing. She was hidden, so maybe it wouldn't see her.

As long as she stayed silent.

It opened the door and came in, turning the handle and casting a beam of garish artificial light from the corridor across the room. Katya didn't move. Maybe it hadn't seen her yet.

The thing pulled the desk away with a crash and Katya leapt up, screaming. She ran to the corner of the room in a panic, wheeling round to find one of her students looking at her hungrily, brains dripping from her mouth as she inched towards her teacher.

Charlotte Cook had been a lively Year Six child, always getting into scraps with the boys in her class. She was the child who always got in trouble for keeping bugs in her desk talking too loudly and getting dirt on her uniform.

And now she was going to kill her teacher.

Katya whimpered and pleaded with the dead girl to spare her, but Charlotte was beyond reasoning. She just kept walking, and Katya was too terrified to run.

Then, when the child was almost upon her, something kick-started her legs and she made a bolt for the door.

But it was barred.

A large, imposing figure in a hooded jacket stood in front of the door, blocking her escape. His arms were folded and he had the tiniest of smiles on his face.

"Please," she begged, "let me pass!"

"But where will you run to? Why bother running?" his smile widened, "just accept your fate."

"Please, I don't want to die," Katya clasped her hands together and held them out in front of her, "I want to see my boyfriend and siblings again! I'll do anything! I haven't done anything wrong! Why is this happening?"

The man didn't reply. Instead, he turned to the dead girl and nodded.

"Kill her."

Katya could only scream as the child pulled her back and tore into her skull.

…

…**So sorry about this. It's very gory, I know. And I'm afraid it'll only get worse.**

**This is just the prologue though. The rest of the fic will be set in a different location, as you can see from the summary. I wanted to write something from Cyprus' point of view because I really don't write him enough despite him being my favourite character. Even the one other fic where he's a main character, it's told from someone else's point of view. (…OH FUCK I FORGOT TO UPDATE THAT… I'll do that next! Then return to this!)**

**Oh, I'd like to note that Charlotte is in year 6, not aged six. For any non-UK viewers, that means she was about ten.**

**Also, is this fic inspired by the zom-b books by Darren Shan? Somewhat, yes.**


	2. Unease

_Stelios- Cyprus_

_Niran- Thailand_

_Angelique- Seychelles_

_Tsvetan- Bulgaria_

…

_First proper chapter._

…

The screaming wouldn't stop. It attacked him from all sides and no matter how loud Stelios called out, it just would not cease. He writhed, clawing at his face as his half-asleep mind howled at him to do something.

With a cry, he sat up straight, panting as he finally realised it was just his alarm. He fumbled for the thing, sitting smugly on his bedside table, and switched it off, then he allowed himself a few moment to calm down.

Stelios' life seemed to be constantly ruled by shrill noises nowadays. If it wasn't his alarm, then it was his pager. And if it wasn't those things, it was a patient crying or a beeping hospital machine. It was a wonder he hadn't had a breakdown yet.

Not that Stelios didn't love his job, because he most certainly did! He loved being around people and fulfilling such a caring role. He loved hearing the stories his patients had to share, and there was never a dull moment in a job like this. Of course, the rose-tinted dream of saving lives and being a hero that had carried him through medical school had long since evaporated, and nowadays he simply focused on trying not to inadvertently kill his patients. Or fall asleep in the morgue. Again.

Besides, his work was all he had left since his brother's disappearance.

They still didn't know what happened to Heracles. No body had ever been found, and there was no evidence as to who had taken him, or even murdered him. All Stelios knew was that one day he'd left for work and never came back. Even the owners of the restaurant he'd worked at said he never showed up that day.

It had only happened a couple of months ago, and it still weighed upon Stelios' life like a raincloud, and he still clung to the hope that his brother would be found safe. Heracles had to be alive! He needed his big brother. It was Heracles who had encouraged him to pursue a medical career. Heracles who saved every penny to send him to university and make sure he had all the textbooks and stationery he needed. Stelios never realised how emotionally dependent on his brother he had been, until he was gone.

There was also that nagging feeling in the back of his mind. The sly thought that threatened to drive him wild: that Heracles might have walked out on him of his own free will. Maybe he got tired of caring for his emotional younger brother, a job he'd had since Stelios was three. Maybe he couldn't take it anymore. Stelios refused to believe such an evil thought.

As well as plaguing his every living moment, Heracles' disappearance would also creep into his nightmares. The worst of them usually involved him being dragged away, screaming for his little brother to help whilst Stelios just stood there, frozen. Sometimes Heracles would be murdered before his very eyes. And still he'd do nothing.

He'd had one of those nightmares that night, which was why he'd been so spooked by the alarm.

Naturally, Stelios hated those nightmares. Not only did they bring his own fears to life- there must have been something he could've done to save Heracles!- but they came with a rather embarrassing side effect…

Stelios swore as he pulled back the covers. Yes, he'd done it again. The damp patch on his bed sheets glared back at him, and Stelios groaned as he climbed out of bed. He was a grown man! He shouldn't still be wetting himself over a few bad dreams!

He glanced at the clock to find he was already running late, and quickly stripped his duvet and mattress, leaving the stained items on a heap in the floor, along with the other mess that only came from working 12-24 hour shifts. He'd sort it out when he got home, because right now he barely had time to shower before starting his shift.

Stelios stumbled out of his T-shirt and boxers as he made his way to the bathroom, wondering if he would have to skip breakfast again.

…

Stelios burst out of the door, jogging down the garden path and leaping over the fence. He tried not to think about how he'd accidentally put the shirt of his blue doctor's uniform on backwards in his haste to leave. There was no time to change it now.

His plimsolls squeaked, slapping against the damp floor as he let out a string of curses. Late again! And now he had the shift from hell! Well, most shifts had a hellish quality in his profession: long hours with no time to pee, let alone get five minute's rest. Still, he seemed to have taken care of the lack of toilet breaks already.

Stelios had to confess he was glad of the distraction. Running around after patients; getting barked at by consultants and surgeons; and being bombarded with nurses asking him to prescribe this and look at that chart and check so-and-so patient was still alive was certainly a lively distraction. As long as he was rushed off his feet and constantly tired and confused and occasionally terrified, he had no time to mourn his brother, or dwell on those horrific dreams. Those crippling, horrifying dreams.

Occasionally, there would be an odd nightmare, different to the others. It involved him lying in bed, completely paralysed as Heracles helped him drink red wine from a beaker. Then he'd stand up and walk away, and all Stelios could do in his drugged, fever-induced state was whimper helplessly as he left. He'd have asked Arthur what those dreams meant, but certainly didn't want to look foolish or weird in front of his rival.

Stelios shook the thought from his head as he ran. He didn't like to dwell on that nightmare; it felt too vivid for his comfort.

…

He burst through the doors of the hospital, trying his best to tiptoe around visitors over to the reception desk to sign in without being noticed. But of course, he was unsuccessful.

"Slept in, have we?" asked Niran the receptionist, not looking up from the form he was filling in, his usual smile plastered across his face. He ran a hand through his messy hair, pushing his glasses further up his nose before the jotting continued. "Luckily they haven't started ward round yet. You can make it if you run."

"An accident, I can assure you!" Stelios scribbled his name in the register just as his pager went off and he had no choice but to answer, darting over to the nearest phone. Feliks, one of the nurses, wanted him to prescribe some more painkillers for a patient in the burns unit. He said he's be there after ward round. He called goodbye to Niran as he sprinted off, nearly sending various nurses and patients flying in the process.

And so it began, yet another busy, confusing day that would leave him utterly exhausted.

"Oh, there you are, Steli!"

Stelios turned around to find fellow Junior Doctor, Angelique Lalande jogging to catch up with him. She was a tiny young woman with large, dark eyes and a mess of frizzy brown hair, and was one of his closest friends.

"Hi, Angie," he gave a curt nod and a warm smile, walking quickly along the corridor.

"I was wondering if you're busy," she continued, still jogging to keep up with the taller man's strides.

"Um, I have to see a patient, then someone will probably give me more work to do."

"Oh," she looked down, "I was wondering if you could just check up on Mr Adnan for me. I have to deliver some X-rays to the radiologist's desk and they're at opposite ends of the hospital."

"Oh not Mr Adnan," he groaned.

"Please! This would be a huge favour."

Stelios looked over at Angelique's wide, hopeful eyes and he sighed.

"Fine, I'll go look after the miserable old sod for you."

"Thanks! You're a star!"

…

Tsvetan trembled as his fingers wrapped around the syringe and he pulled the cap off. The seemingly innocent clear liquid just sat snug within the glass, waiting to be used. By him. On him. Every impulse screamed at him to run. He almost did there and then.

"And… and you'll promise to let my sister go if I do this?" he asked for what felt like the hundredth time. The man in front of him- the so-called 'Liberator'- sighed, nodding slowly once more.

"She will be free the moment the potion enters your bloodstream."

The Liberator hid his face behind an ornate, full-faced mask. It was a sickly neon green, silver and emerald patterns swirling to mark the contours of the face. Hundreds of tiny, painstakingly-painted patterns. The mask gave the man's face an almost cat-like appearance, completed by a pair of bright green, almost inhuman eyes. They were not the eyes of a sane man. His hair was covered by an oversized grey hoodie, and his jeans and trainers were covered in mud. Altogether, not a man Tsvetan would trust.

And now he'd taken Tsvetan's little sister, holding her to ransom.

He didn't know what business this man had with him, or what the two of them had outside a hospital, but he didn't like it one bit. This Liberator guy was going to make him do something evil, he could feel it. And he was just as evil for going along with it.

"No one's gonna get hurt, are they?" He hated the way his voice quivered.

"That's really not your business. Now, you know what to do after the injection?"

Tsvetan nodded.

"Then there's really no need to wait any longer."

"Of course, but," Tsvetan looked away, "what will happen to me after I take this?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

He sighed, deciding to say no more on the subject. There was no point anyway. As if this man would give him a straight answer. All he knew was that every ounce of his being was telling him to turn away. He didn't have to do this. He was a free man!

But for once in his life, Tsvetan ignored his instincts and did the unthinkable.

He became a monster.

With a dry sob, he rolled back his sleeve and plunged the syringe into his arm.


	3. History

Monique- Monaco

Kuzey- TRNC

Naranbaatar- Mongolia

…

Err, sorry for the delay. I kept getting distracted by different things and losing concentration. Warning for mentions of illnesses in this chapter… and most of the story.

…

As a regular drunk, Tsvetan was no stranger to headaches. He often spent whole mornings nursing the things as he avoided sunlight and anything that smelt remotely like alcohol.

But this was something else entirely. He thought he would die from the pain alone, which came in relentless waves that nearly brought him to his knees. He broke into a cold sweat as he struggled to remain standing.

It had taken a short while for the potion to take effect, enough for him to walk into A&E without worry. But by the time he'd reached the desk, he was in agony.

"Please," he rasped, leaning against the desk and gripping the edges with pale, trembling, clammy hands, "help." His throat was like sandpaper, and he felt like he was slowly boiling in his blue hoodie.

The Liberator had neglected to mention these symptoms, of course. All he'd told Tsvetan was that he needed to inject himself with this stuff, walk into A&E and sit in the waiting room. The rest would sort itself out. Tsvetan wasn't sure what was supposed to happen now. They weren't going to experiment on him, were they? Maybe testing out a new drug.

"Okay sir," began the receptionist, a young man with 'Niran Mookjai' written on his ID card. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Pain. My head. Throat's dry." Tsvetan massaged his neck for good measure. He needed water. "Help. Need a doctor. I think I'm dying."

"Yes, you look rather pale," Niran smiled reassuringly. "Take a seat and a doctor will be along in a moment."

"Now." Tsvetan's breathing was ragged. "I need one now." There was a wash of panic, and a surge of blinding anger and hate rushed through his veins. He wanted to tear that annoying receptionist apart.

"There's a queue. You need to wait your turn."

"Do you want to die too? Because if you don't get me a doctor that's what will happen."

"Sir, please be seated," Niran wasn't smiling now. In fact, he was looking a little scared. So he should be.

"Do what I say. Or I will kill you."

"We do not tolerate threats and abuse towards our staff." A short doctor, with a plait trailing down her back, grabbed his sleeve and glared at him with a poisonous expression. Her ID card read Monique Bonnefoy.

And just like that, his anger was gone.

"Sorry," he mumbled, bowing his head. He didn't understand. He would never be this rude to hospital staff! "I don't know what came over me. Truly."

The doctor didn't look convinced. Niran still looked ready to run.

"Very well, just sit down and myself or a colleague will get to you."

This time, Tsvetan complied. He shuffled over to a chair in the corner, sitting on the lumpy plastic just as he was hit by another wave of pain.

…

What with ward rounds, filling in forms and having his dammed pager go off every five seconds, it was mid-morning by the time he finally entered the neurology ward to check on Mr Adnan.

Stelios never liked checking up on this patient. Although he tried to remain friendly but distant to those in his care- especially the dying ones, to save his own heart and mind- he simply couldn't do that with the elderly, Turkish man at death's door.

Mr Adnan had spent years in and out of hospital battling cancer, and for a large part of it, he'd been winning. He came in for his chemotherapy, radiotherapy and to have the tumours surgically removed from whichever part of the body they'd decided to spring up in. But they kept growing back, and now he had a tumour in his brain. It was slowly killing him, but then again, Mr Adnan had been dying for nearly two years. That was when the doctors had first said he only had a short while to live. He'd fought it, and defied all odds, but now it appeared he was finally succumbing. Now it was too difficult for him to walk and see, and talking was a struggle too.

He was to be moved to a hospice soon, where palliative care would see him through the last of his days. The care team would make sure his death was dignified and painless and help him make all the necessary legal arrangements whilst psychologists and an Imam from the local Mosque provided counselling for him and his young son.

He was one of many patients Stelios had cared for, and he would not be the last to die this way, but things were still extremely uncomfortable between the two. They didn't see eye-to-eye on a lot of subjects, Mr Adnan could get quite irritable at times, and Stelios truly didn't know how to react to him.

It also didn't help that he was Stelios' old maths teacher.

Mr Adnan might be old and frail now, but he certainly had a lot of energy as a middle-aged man. He was a fierce teacher, always raising his voice and patronising his students. And he hated Stelios, and Stelios despised him in turn. It didn't help that Stelios had been a nervous, clumsy child who was rather slow when it came to maths. He also had a nervous bladder.

Wetting yourself in school was every kid's worse nightmare. But usually that never happened over the age of seven. And it certainly wouldn't happen at thirteen. In front of the class after getting an equation wrong on the board and the teacher shouted at him for a good five minutes, causing him to burst into tears and just stand there in front of a laughing class wailing and wiping snot from his barely visible moustache.

At least Mr Adnan had the grace to look guilty about it, and never mention it as long as he lived. He also became less of a tyrant, not only to Stelios but to the rest of his students, as several of his friends pointed out after thanking him for 'taking one for the team'. That, Stelios decided, was almost worth getting called 'pissy pants' for three years. Almost.

And now this.

He entered the ward, tentative and reluctant as usual. There were only a handful of patients filling the beds, with various head and nerve conditions. Mr Adnan was near the entrance, laying back in bed with intravenous lines snaking in and out of his body. He had lost his muscle, and his spiked brown hair, beard, and pretty much every hair on his chest and arms. His skin was discoloured, greying and wrinkled, papery through his thin pyjamas. His son had produced a length of cloth on one of his visits for Mr Adnan to wear as a turban to cover his baldness, after seeing pictures of them in a history book.

"Um, good morning," Stelios began, walking over to him. Mr Adnan looked over in his general direction, blind eyes clouded and drooping. He smiled at the voice, skin around the eyes crinkling.

"Ah, doctor," he began in a weak voice, "I trust all is well."

Stelios didn't know how to reply, so he just filled in forms and checked to see that all of his lines were still working and that Mr Adnan's condition hadn't worsened overnight. Everything seemed to be normal, and he was about to leave, when the man spoke again.

"Dr Angel… Stelios," Mr Adnan reached his hand out and Stelios took it, dread rising inside of him. Mr Adnan was silent for a few moments, tracing circles over the back of one of the doctor's hands.

"I'm worried. About Kuzey."

Kuzey was Mr Adnan's 14 year old son, put into care two years ago after his father simply couldn't look after him, and he in turn couldn't care for someone so ill. He visited as often as he was allowed, bringing little presents and stories to keep the man entertained. Even now, a sizable pile of jigsaws and travel games were stacked up next to his bed, never mind that Mr Adnan couldn't even see well enough to actually play them. He appreciated each gift regardless.

Stelios remembered Mr Adnan mentioning that they'd finally tracked down his cousin, who'd agreed to adopt Kuzey. He was already in the country and visiting Kuzey often, to get the boy used to him, apparently. Naranbaatar, the cousin, had come all the way from Ulan Bator to collect him, and would return there with Kuzey. Of course, the boy refused to leave the country while his father was still alive, and Naranbaatar was of the same opinion. Stelios had noticed him visiting on several occasions, asking a barrage of questions about the boy he was now responsible for, as well as his cousin's health and happiness.

He wondered why he was so interested in Mr Adnan's personal life. He never usually observed a patient's life so closely before. Maybe he was just in shock that Mr Adnan of all people was one of his patients, and could actually be good with kids. All through his adolescence, he'd been certain the man loathed children and became a teacher solely to make their lives a misery, but he was so gentle with Kuzey, and absolutely adored the boy. Stelios just wished he hadn't waited until he was fifty to get someone pregnant. Maybe his caring side would've come out before Stelios had escaped to college.

"Kuzey?"

"Yes," Mr Adnan took a deep breath, "he's too young to be going through all this. He convinced me he could be my carer before I was admitted, and he was until social services found out. He visits the hospital more times than he turns up for school. I'm worried about him."

"I'm not surprised," Stelios sat down at the edge of his bed, thankful for the chance to rest his feet. "It's a lot for anyone to handle, let alone a kid."

"I feel like I failed him." Mr Adnan's lip quivered.

"I can understand why you're feeling like that," Stelios began slowly, carefully choosing his words, "and it's normal for someone in your position to feel like this…" He looked down at his shoes; "it's not your fault though. Don't ever tell yourself for a moment that it is."

Mr Adnan didn't reply. He just lay there, playing with his hands.

"Come on, old man! You're a knob, but you're not pessimistic."

Mr Adnan barked out a laugh.

"Look, just focus on cherishing what little time you actually have left with your son. He's being looked after, and has a home to go to when you die. You've done enough for him, just don't go all guilt-ridden and distant on him now, you honestly don't have enough time."

"You're right," Mr Adnan glared at him, "how come you were never this smart in school?"

"I was. You never saw."

Mr Adnan grimaced. "You've been so good to me since I came here…"

"I'm just doing my job." Stelios stood up just as his pager went off. "I, err, I have to get this." He began to walk away.

"Dr Angelopoulos?"

Stelios paused. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

Stelios just nodded, almost barging into a sullen teenage boy in his haste to leave.


	4. Progress

_Adriaan- Netherlands_

_Anri- Belgium_

_Luca- Luxembourg_

…

_Hello again! It seems I've been rather slow with this… I seriously gotta pick up the pace if I want this finished before Halloween!_

_Also warning for more mentions of illnesses._

…

"So, are you getting along with Naranbaatar then?" Sadik asked politely, glancing in the general direction of his son's voice. Kuzey nodded before remembering his father couldn't see.

"Yes. He's rather stern, but nice." The boy thought for a moment. "He's pretty cool, actually. He was teaching me archery and says we can go watch wrestling together sometime."

"Yeah, he's a fun guy, even if he can get a bit grumpy sometimes," Sadik chuckled, mind filled with childhood memories, few and far between due to the enormous geographical distance between the two cousins.

"I'd much rather stay with you;" Kuzey added, "if I could."

"I know," Sadik winked, "I am the cooler cousin."

"You're also my Baba."

Sadik sighed, tilting his head slightly to the side, cheek resting against the cool pillow. He looked so small and fragile to Kuzey, who was used to the tall, muscular, and very loud man that was his father. Sadik's spark seemed to have gone. He no longer sang, or bustled about in his kitchen proudly cooking. His personality had changed drastically; he was no longer confident or competitive, just timid and constantly tired.

Kuzey hated to admit it, but he was slowly losing his Baba.

"For one so young to loose both his parents as a child is an ultimate tragedy. I'm sorry I cannot be here for you."

"It's not your fault Baba," Kuzey rolled his eyes, trying to ignore that they stung with tears.

"I know. I guess… we still have time though." Sadik reached out a hand, which Kuzey took. "It's not much, but it's something."

…

Tsvetan gasped and spluttered, huddled in the corner of the waiting room. He was curled up on the chair, trembling feverishly and trying not to be sick.

He needed water. Everything burned and his head seared. He wanted out. The room was too cramped. To full of people. They talked and moved and constantly made noise, and the lights above got brighter by the second. Their body heat radiated from all angles and pressed down on him. His skin burned.

Something inside him was changing. It was becoming harder to hold onto the man he once was.

Tsvetan spied a water cooler in the corner and shakily got up, sweat dripping from every inch of him. progress across the room was slow, but he eventually made it. He took a cup and filled it with cool, refreshing water, downing it in one gulp.

No effect.

He drank another cupful, but that didn't work either. Even the third cup had no effect. He growled and tossed the cup in the bin, wondering if kicking the cooler would get him thrown out. He decided against it, and turned around, only to find a little boy of about ten staring up at him curiously.

Another flash of anger, and he let out a snarl which sent the child running back to his mother. This time, no guilt followed and he ignored the glares of the other patients as he sauntered back to his seat. What did he care for their opinions?

He snuggled deeper into his hoodie, trying to avoid the light despite the burning heat. Make it stop. He needed cool and dark!

Another wave of pain, and he was stripped of his humanity.

…

"You are making sure my brother is perfectly looked after?"

Stelios sighed as he looked up at the large, intimidating form of Mr Adriaan Baeten. His arms were folded and he glared down at the young doctor. Next to him, sat next to a hospital bed, his sister rolled her eyes as she stroked the youngest Baeten sibling's hair.

Mr Luca Baeten was in a bad way. Although he'd been brought back to a relatively normal weight, his mental health was still far from secure. The boy lay silently in his bed, dozing apparently peacefully, wrapped up in baggy silk pyjamas. His bony wrists poked out from their sleeves, hands resting on his chest as it rose and fell slowly.

The patients on the psychiatric ward were usually more difficult to treat. It was all well and good diagnosing someone with a physical disease, then deciding what surgery or medicine would hopefully cure it, but problems inside the mind? That was more of a challenge and it certainly couldn't be approached from a purely clinical perspective. And Luca was a stubborn boy. His physical, psychological and social needs had all been assessed, and written up in his notes, but he was refusing to go along with the care plan.

He didn't recognise that he had a problem. He just wanted to be beautiful. So what? Everyone wanted to look good. Why was his case different? Why was he being singled out? Why was he being locked up in here with the mad people? He wasn't mad. Right?

But Luca's quest for perfection had left him a bag of bones. His soft blond hair was thin and falling out, and his hands and feet discoloured. Luca's pale skin was dry, no matter how much moisturiser he used and his stomach bloated.

He still didn't want to eat. Even the tiny amount of food he was being given, he refused to eat. And he always had an excuse ready. If he didn't hate hospital food, then he had allergies, or he had an upset stomach. They were getting some food into him, but it wasn't enough. They'd had to limit his water, since he drank so much to make it seem like he'd gained weight. He refused to open up during his therapies, and mostly sat and sulked in bed. Progress was incredibly slow, and it could take months for him to be discharged, and after that he'd definitely be an outpatient for several years to come.

And until Luca was better, Stelios would have to deal with his terrifying older brother.

"He is in the best place possible," he stressed, trying not to whimper under the other's glare.

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Ah come on now, Adriaan," his sister, Anri, began, still stroking Luca's hair, "you're scaring the poor man."

"Good!" Adriaan folded his arms, "maybe that'll make him try to fix our brother."

Stelios could see Adriaan was trembling. There was fear behind his glare, especially when he looked at his brother. He didn't know what to do, and that scared him. Luca had suffered in silence all these years and he's not known, and now the boy was in hospital, he didn't know how to help him. He felt guilty. He felt powerless. Stelios knew all of this.

He just wished the man would stop taking it out on him; he was a junior doctor, after all.

Although Anri could get teary and snappy over the situation, she wasn't one to bully the medical staff. She just fretted over her brothers and asked as many questions as she could.

"We're doing everything we can for him," Stelios explained, "but I'm afraid it's all up to Luca now. The moment he responds to the treatment, the moment it starts going uphill."

The only reason anyone found out about Luca's condition was because he'd been rushed into A&E with heart failure. Stelios had been on call at that time, and was the one to diagnose him, a considerable feat considering Adriaan had been shouting in one ear and Anri was wailing in the other.

"I just want my baby brother back," Adriaan whispered.

Stelios understood the feeling all too well. He patted the man's back, reassured him once more, then his pager went off and he hurried away to answer it.

As he rushed through the psychiatric ward, he caught one of the patients- Mr Hassan- waving at him and waved back. He wanted to stop and chat, but he was needed elsewhere.

…

Life in the hospital continued in its hectic, dramatic style. Dr Kirkland had to scold two young American brothers in general surgery for being too noisy. The younger brother patiently waited for his operation that afternoon to correct his curved spine, occupied by his older brother's jokes and stories. Feliks the nurse fretted over one of the patients in the burns unit, a young man with a blistered face whose cousin was being treated for carbon monoxide poisoning elsewhere. A young girl- bruised and dangerously thin- stumbled into A&E with bloodied arms and legs and a little boy fought blood poisoning in the paediatric ward whilst his friend nursed a broken arm in the bed next to him.

And amongst all that, a monster sat huddled in the corner of the waiting room, motionless and ready to strike.

But Stelios- unaware of the impending danger- simply rushed from ward to ward, wherever he was needed, just doing his job and clinging to the last shreds of the belief that he was saving lives.

…

**Ugh sorry for writing such depressing topics. I also didn't realise how close to home Sadik and Kuzey's storyline would hit…**


	5. Suffer

_Mr Densen- Denmark_

_Andrei- Moldova_

_Franz- Kugelmugel_

_Mei- Taiwan_

_Hunapo- New Zealand_

_Elise- Liechtenstein_

_Arjun- India_

_..._

_Heeey I'm back. Sorry this took a while. Not gonna lie, it's not been a good week. Anyway, the action's starting to pick up._

_More illness mentions in this, as well as violence and mentions of abuse._

…

"Hey, Angie!" Stelios grinned as he spied his friend in the corridor. Angie, arms laden with envelopes containing x-rays simply nodded and continued walking.

"How are you?" he asked, jogging to catch up with her.

"Good. Busy." She talked distractedly as she walked down the corridor. Mr Densen in the liver department tried to discharge himself because he wanted a drink, which is rather odd since he's usually well behaved. I want to run a few more tests on Mr Adnan before he's moved to the hospice tomorrow. Oh, and I have to run these down to the paediatric ward. This kid- Andrei- came in with a broken arm a few days ago and the doctors want to check that it's healing well. They've stuck him next to his best friend, Franz; which is nice in theory, but Franz is really sick and they don't know if he'll pull through so it's distressing for his friend."

"That's awful to hear," Stelios looked down. He wasn't sure what branch of medicine he wanted to go into, if he was completely honest, but one thing was certain where Stelios was concerned: he was never going into paediatrics. Seeing people suffering and dying every day was awful enough, but seeing it happen to small children was too much. Mei, one of the other junior doctors, wanted to get a job on the paediatric ward and he and Angelique thought she was insane.

"Hey look who it is, the Angels!"

Stelios and Angelique wheeled around to find Dr Hunapo Davies walking towards them with their usual kind smile on their face. Stelios liked the consultant, who had taken the junior doctors under their wing from day one. Hunapo was patient with them, and was always willing to help when they were stuck, which was pretty often given that they'd only finished medical school three months ago. They were easy to talk to, even if their sense of humour was a little twisted at times.

Stelios and Angelique had earned themselves the nickname 'Angels' in reference to their names, and the fact that they were rather well liked by patients for their personalities, even if they were a bit useless medically. It was something Mei had come up with two weeks in and had just stuck. Stelios adored the nickname and loved the connotation. He was an angel. People already thought he was gentle and caring enough to warrant such an epithet.

Unfortunately, it also meant few people bothered to learn his real surname.

He didn't mind if it was a patient with speech problems or dementia or was just elderly, but surely the more senior doctors could at least make an effort. So far only Angie and Dr Davies- and one or two others- had managed it. He swore he spent most of his life telling people how to pronounce or spell Angelopoulos. He wasn't even using the full version of his forename dammit! The only effort people could make was with the surname.

"Morning, Dr Sheep."

Dr Davies' mouth curled upwards at the nickname. There was no real reason behind that other than their hair, and that doctors apparently had a poor sense of humour.

"I hope you two are staying out of trouble," they said, giving them a mock-glare. The young pair laughed.

"We're too busy to get into trouble!" Angelique exclaimed before remembering the pile of scans, gasping, and dashing off to deliver them. "Gotta go! Bye!"

Stelios gave a small wave before turning back to Dr Davies.

"And how are you my boy?" they asked.

"Good. Tired, I guess. And hungry."

"Yeah that's the price of fame," Dr Davies winked, "still, you get used to it."

"It's been months now," Stelios whined, "I'm still not used to it."

"You'll get there. Just push through." Dr Davies let out a sigh, running a hand through their hair. "Still, one day you'll be a consultant like me and it'll all be worth it."

Stelios laughed. "If you say so."

"Dr Angel, I need you to book a scan with the radiologist," Dr Kirkland barked, joining them, "stop standing around, boy. You're not paid to chit-chat."

Stelios wasn't too fond of Arthur Kirkland, one of the doctors in the General Surgery department. He was sure the man was nice enough, they just didn't get along. Stelios didn't understand Arthur, and Arthur's people skills left much to be desired. They were generally snarky and rude towards each other, unless talking about Cat Stevens or singing along to his music, then they were suddenly kindred spirits. This fact had first become known at a work party when Stelios had found a guitar and started making his way through various Cat Stevens songs with Arthur joining in suddenly. The other hospital staff knew this, and if there was a situation where there was a chance of Stelios and Arthur getting into an argument, someone would start singing 'wild world' and everything would soon calm down.

"Sorry sir," Stelios said through gritted teeth.

"Well, I need a scan booked for Mr Michael Jones in General Surgery."

"I'll talk to the radiologist right away."

"I swear that boy's brother will give me grey hairs before my time," Dr Kirkland sighed.

"Oh? You mean Alfred?" Stelios asked.

"Yeah, he was playing 'war' with Michael last time I saw, hands as guns, shouting stuff in the phonetic alphabet and the like. I was leaving just as the nurse was telling them off."

"I remember learning the phonetic alphabet," Dr Davies commented.

"Oh yes?"

"Yeah, I only got round to learning to spell my name though."

"Interesting. Can you spell your name phonetically, Stelios?"

"Err, sure," Stelios internally panicked, desperate not to look like a fool in front of the other doctors, "sunshine… tequila… egg… lard… eyes… oranges-"

"Dr Angel," Arthur began.

"Yes?"

"Just get the scan booked."

"Right away, sir."

"Sunshine? Tequila?" Dr Davies raised a bushy eyebrow, "got a holiday on your mind?"

"You don't know the half of it sir!"

…

"I guess you were very brave," Feliks commented as he changed Toris' dressing. "Stupid, but brave."

Toris tried to scowl, but his face stung with blistered second degree burns. As if things weren't bad enough without his best friend also being one of the nurses on the ward his was staying in.

Feliks never missed an opportunity to chide him, and although Toris knew he was just scared of the thought that he nearly lost his dear friend, he was still rather disgruntled. What was he supposed to have done? Just stood outside the burning tower block and let Raivis burn? All the same, he'll admit his plan was rather flawed: the fire department ended up dragging them both out and he was now in hospital too.

But Raivis was the only family he had in the country.

He prayed he wouldn't lose the boy after all this.

Raivis was in intensive care now, and had been for several days. He was in a stable condition and things were looking positive, but so much could go wrong and Toris couldn't allow himself to become hopeful just yet. He'd not seen his cousin since the fire, and wasn't allowed to visit him just yet. Not until his own injuries had healed and Raivis was out of intensive care.

"You'd have done the same for your younger siblings," he commented as Feliks tidied away his tray of food. He was perfectly capable of walking down to the canteen, but Feliks wouldn't let him. Still, Toris wasn't used to being fussed over and even pampered, so he decided to enjoy it while he could. God knows how Feliks milked every small cold and paper cut he got.

"Can you fluff my pillows please?" he asked, laying back in bed.

Feliks rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on." Toris looked up with large eyes.

"Fine," Feliks sighed, "but only because you always took care of me when I was ill."

"Also it's your job."

"Well it's not really. And one more comment like that from you, and I'll slap the Lithuanian out of you. Burns or no burns."

Toris stuck out his tongue, which was returned. Feliks fluffed up his pillows before jokingly blowing him a kiss and striding off to check on another patient, a boy with third degree burns covering his arm from where he'd been scalded with a pan of boiling water.

"Do you do that to all you patients?" he asked.

"Aw, Yong Soo, are you jealous?"

…

"Sir," Monique tried again, looking down at the hooded man she'd told off earlier and thinking that it might have been better to have just kicked him out once he'd started getting aggressive.

But he'd looked genuinely ill. Still did. Worse, even.

He wasn't responding to her voice, and she wondered if he knew she was even there. He'd been in a pretty bad way earlier, and his health had definitely deteriorated further. It was hard to see under his hood, but it looked like his skin was peeling.

"Sir, I'm ready to see you now. Come along so I can see what's wrong."

Tsvetan looked up, and Monique cried out.

He was drooling, mouth curled into a manic grin as he licked his lips. His teeth had lengthened, becoming yellow and pointed whilst his skin took on a waxy, grey texture. And it was definitely peeling, revealing black, necrotised flesh underneath that was oozing with pus. But the most striking, horrific change was the eyes: completely neon green with no humanity left in them. They looked at her hungrily, manic and wild.

Then Tsvetan lunged at her.

…

Elise Vogel's story was like so many he'd heard before and would again. Unfortunately.

She explained it as Dr Kapur stitched up a rather nasty bite mark on her leg. Physically abused from an early age by her parents, when she was fifteen her brother had died trying to protect her from a particularly savage beating. He'd stood between her and her violent, drunken father and his malnourished, broken body couldn't take it any more.

Elise had run away after that.

Dr Arjun Kapur had heard the story that followed from far too many vulnerable young women: homelessness, drugs, prostitution. Elise was one of many people who had been cast aside by life. Ever since her brother died, Elise had not known love, not had anyone to care for her.

While Dr Kapur stitched her up, Elise asked if she could have a blood test for HIV, just in case. No problem. She needed tests anyway because of her bites, to make sure she didn't catch something from them. Elise was worried about the trouble she would be in, and since it was possible to charge more if she could prove she didn't have any diseases, she hoped that would stop her pimp from being particularly unpleasant when she was discharged.

She asked Arjun if her beauty was ruined, since she was nothing without it, and he said 'of course not'. Elise nodded, but it was clear she didn't believe him.

Arjun asked how she got bitten, and in so many places. She explained a client's dog had gotten loose and attacked as she was leaving the hotel. She'd fallen and it had ruthlessly bit into her from all sides before its owner had eventually gotten bored and dragged it off.

He asked about the bruising. Her clients, again.

Now she was stitched up, she would just have to wait for her test results. Arjun gave her a tenner and told her to buy some lunch in the canteen while she waited.

It wasn't enough, and he knew it. He wanted to wrap her up in a warm blanket and keep her safe and take her home just so she had somewhere to go that wasn't a hostel or motel room. He wanted to protect her from the evils of the world. But ten pounds was all he could give.

Just as she was thanking him, a scream sounded down the corridor.


	6. Emergency

_Aleksander- Norway_

_Lars- Ladonia_

…

_Woohoo! Fast updates!_

_I think at this point I should stop putting up warnings cause anyone who's still reading clearly isn't phased by a little blood and gore. It's gonna be scary and bloody all the way through._

_Oh, and Dr Lalande is Seychelles, for those who forgot her surname._

…

Arjun left a confused and terrified Elise behind as he dashed down the corridor towards the sound of screaming. What the hell was going on? It had been Monique who'd screamed, even though she never did such a thing. What had gone wrong to make her do that? And were the patients safe? He ran into the waiting room and was met with a scene of chaos.

Monique was sprawled on the floor, blood covering her face as she whimpered behind an upturned chair. Several other patients were bleeding too, lying on the floor clutching faces, necks and arms, and most were trying to escape. Many were too ill to stand, let alone run, and were either being pulled by relatives or simply sobbing in their seats. Arjun glanced at one person lying deathly still on the floor, and gagged; he could see brain tissue leaking from their skull. There were more in a similar state. Dead. His patients were being murdered.

Niran was trying to reason with what Arjun assumed to be the attacker, and was failing badly. His arms were out in front of him, and he stood at a distance from the man with blood dribbling down his chin.

"Sir, please calm down," he cried, trying to remain calm himself in front of the patients. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, ready to jump back if his assailant lunged for him, which Arjun suspected would happen soon. "Stop this at once! We don't tolerate abuse towards out staff and patients!"

For a few moments, Arjun could only stand there and look on in horror at the dribbling monster that had ripped through the waiting room, with its peeling skin and horrifying, glowing eyes. Either Niran couldn't see that it couldn't be reasoned with, or he was desperate to do something to protect those in his care, even if it was fruitless and putting himself in grave danger.

He saw a group of people huddling in the corner, a young boy staring up at him with wide fearful eyes through his mother's arms and spurred into action. Arjun grabbed a fire extinguisher off the wall and ran over to Niran.

"Hey, I'll take it from here!"

Niran leapt back as the attacker lunged, jogging to a safe distance before turning to Arjun.

"Thank goodness you turned up," he gasped, "the man just went crazy and started taking bites out of everyone!"

"Bites?" Arjun's voice went up an octave. He'd thought the man had a knife or something.

"Yeah," Niran glanced at the snarling shell of a human, "his teeth are all pointed. They weren't like that when he came in."

Before Arjun could reply, the attacker lunged and he swung the fire extinguisher at him in defence. The attacker backed off slightly.

"Niran! Call for backup!" he shouted. Niran darted off to the phone on his desk, punching in a number to call for someone. Anyone.

Arjun continued to exchange blows with his assailant, dodging as the monster-man lashed out with jagged claws, snapping with those teeth. He gagged at the rancid smell of the man's rotten flesh.

"Woah, you need to get some moisturiser on your crusty fucking skin!" he exclaimed, and even through the commotion he could hear Niran sigh from across the room.

"Focus!" he shouted.

And Niran had a point, because just then, what had been Tsvetan lunged forward and scratched his face. Arjun hissed, falling back and wiping blood from his cheek. He slipped and crashed to the floor. The monster advanced and Arjun struggled to get up again, still clutching the fire extinguisher.

Then a chair flew out of nowhere, hitting his attacker in the chest and knocking him back. The monster stumbled, but remained standing. Still, it gave Arjun a chance and he took it, scrambling to his feet and swinging the fire extinguisher at Tsvetan's head.

It hit, but not hard enough. The monster lurched but kept coming.

Another chair. It was Monique, lunging forward and swinging the chair at the attacker, knocking him backwards. Arjun joined in, bringing the fire extinguisher down on his head.

And finally, the monster collapsed to the floor with a groan.

Tsvetan's body twitched, and Arjun brought down the extinguisher again, bile rising in his throat at the sickening crack of the man's skull. He looked down, trembling and panting at the now lifeless body. He'd killed someone. He'd killed one of his own patients!

Arjun and Monique exchanged horrified glances in the silence that followed, and Niran slowly joined them.

"Is he… dead?" he asked, gripping Monique's sleeve nervously.

"I think so." Arjun looked at the other two. "What the hell happened here?"

"I don't know," Monique shivered, "he just attacked me. I don't think he was human… but what else could he be?" Blood was still trickling down her face and the bite marks were beginning to scab over. Arjun pretended not to see the green pus spilling out of a few of the wounds.

"I killed him," Arjun said, voice monotonous.

"You had to," Niran told him, "he was killing the other patients. It was self-defence, right?"

He turned to the surviving patients, checking any injuries and trying to calm them down. Monique was about to follow, when Arjun grabbed her sleeve.

"You should get your face checked out," he told her, "that looks pretty nasty."

"Likewise."

It was then that Niran's backup finally arrived. Dr Davies burst into the waiting room, and cried out at the scene that met them.

"Your back up was one person?" he hissed at Niran, who just shrugged.

"Everyone was busy," he replied, "besides, it didn't matter if I'd called for one person or the army. You still would've smashed that man's brains out before they got here."

"Dr Kapur, Mr Mookjai, Dr Bonnefoy," Hunapo exclaimed, "why are there bodies all over the floor? What the hell happened?"

Niran gushed out a hurried explanation whilst Arjun calmed everyone down. Monique sat on one of the chairs, clutching at her face and hissing. Arjun pretended not to notice. There was one word buzzing around his head. A word he'd heard plenty of times in American and British films, one that would explain Tsvetan's behaviour. And one that meant Monique was doomed, as well as a danger to anyone she came nto contact with. Him too, Arjun realised as he brushed his cheek, claw marks still fresh and jagged.

But zombies didn't exist, right?

"You two need medical attention," Dr Davies stated, "you're in the right place for it at least." They chuckled at their joke before continuing, "look, take any injured patients off to a side room and I'll take a look at you all in a minute."

"Right, of course," Arjun helped Monique up, directing the patients that could still stand down the corridor to a side room whilst Niran and Dr Davies fetched wheelchairs for the patients that couldn't. Uninjured patients were moved to children's A&E whilst the regular A&E was out of bounds, given tea, and placed under Niran's watchful eye.

As Arjun paced up and down the side room trying to comfort patients, all thoughts of zombies and other such nonsense fled from his mind, replaced by a larger and far more ominous thought.

How exactly was he supposed to explain away bludgeoning a man to death to the police?

…

Elsewhere in the hospital, things were their usual hectic. There were forms to be filled, tests to be carried out, sick people to operate on. Just a normal day for most of the staff.

Tino nodded to Dr Lalande as he entered the ward and walked over to his husband. Berwald smiled warmly, but didn't have the energy to wave, and when Tino hugged him, he couldn't raise his arms to hug back. Berwald was thin and pale, the bruises littering his arms vivid shades of purple and yellow. His breathing was ragged and when Tino took one of his hands, it was clammy.

Berwald's hand twitched and he smiled again.

"How are you?" Tino asked.

"Fine, I guess." Berwald blinked slowly.

He seemed almost transparent to Tino now, especially in the bright sunlight against the white sheets, a far cry from the tall, solid man he had married all those years ago. The sight of his husband, so fragile and helpless, tore at Tino's heart and terrified him.

But he never showed it.

He had to be strong for Berwald. But the long weeks spent in and out of hospital had worn Tino down emotionally and he didn't know how much more he could take. He just wanted things to return to the way they were, and remembered when he and Berwald had been a newly married couple, happy and in love, filling out adoption forms and talking to social workers. The adoption process had been dull at the time, he'll admit, but now he missed dull. 'Dull' was definitely better than frightened and uncertain for the future.

Did they even have a future now?

But he said nothing. After all, it was Berwald who needed the bone marrow transplant, who had gone through chemotherapy, not him.

Still, his younger brother, Aleksander, had been found to have the same tissue type, and was willing to be a donor. Berwald's operation was tomorrow, and Tino tried to be positive, but it would put enormous physical strain on Berwald, and so many things could go wrong. It could kill him, even, and if he survived, he'd be in hospital for several weeks just recovering.

"Are they treating you well here?" he tried.

Berwald sighed. "Y's, perfectly well."

There was an agonising pause as Tino thought about the past few months. The chemotherapy had wreaked havoc on Berwald's body and done little to actually kill the cancerous cells in his bloodstream. It had made him severely ill, gave him mouth ulcers and caused his hair to fall out. Berwald hadn't minded, so long as he was getting treatment.

But it hadn't been effective so now the doctors were trying a transplant. Again, Berwald didn't complain; he just wanted to get better and go home to his family.

"How are our boys?" he asked.

"Oh fine," Tino sat down next to him, "they say hi, by the way. Lars is in homework club again and Peter got a detention for farting in another student's face."

Berwald laughed, as did the man in the bed next to him.

"Your kids are hilarious," Sadik exclaimed whilst Kuzey rolled his eyes.

"Oh they are," Tino let out a sigh, "a handful though."

"Luckily I have Kuzey, who is no trouble at all," Sadik reached out a hand to ruffle his son's hair, and poked him in the face.

"Baba!" Kuzey exclaimed.

"Oh, sorry." Sadik grinned, "so where are your little boys then?"

"At school," Tino replied, glancing at Kuzey but saying nothing. He knew why the boy was constantly bunking from school and understood fully. Kuzey had such little time left with his father.

Besides, Tino himself was only here because he'd phoned in sick from work. Like he wasn't going to be beside Berwald on the day before his operation.

"Oh that's a shame," Sadik frowned, "Kuzey can't see his friends today."

Kuzey shifted so neither Tino nor Berwald could see him pull a face.

"Speaking of friends," began Tino, turning back to Berwald, "how have you and Mr Adnan been getting along?"

"Talks too much," Berwald stated, "never shuts up, then c'mplains he's tired." Tino laughed.

"Oh come on! I don't talk that much!"

"You do a bit," Tino commented, "like me, I guess."

"Are the others being mean to you?" Dr Lalande cooed, standing on the other side of Sadik's bed and filling out his chart.

"Don't worry about it, Dr Angel," Sadik waved a hand, "I'm blind to the haters."

"And everything else," Tino muttered.

"Don't be mean!" cried Kuzey and Berwald at the same time.

"Fine, sorry."

"That's my son." Kuzey gave his father a hug, which was returned.

"So are you scared about your operation tomorrow?" Tino asked, turning to Berwald and stroking his hand with a thumb.

"Yes," Berwald admitted, "but it'll be worth it in the end. I just have to do this and it'll be all over."

Tino smiled. "Yes. All over…"

…

The Liberator walked back to his van, a silver transit sat in the car park. He took out his keys and unlocked the back door to find a crowd of teenagers with wide fearful eyes staring back, crouched on the floor and holding several devices each. Like Tsvetan, they wore hoods to cover their faces, and some were covered in bruises.

He'd recruited them from the local shopping centre, forcing them to work for them or he'd tell the police they'd been bunking off to spend the day loitering and vandalising property.

"Well," he began, "you know what to do."

One of the teens, a young boy, peered out at where they were and whimpered.

"A hospital? What are we doing here?"

"That's not your concern. Just do your job."

"But my parents are here," the boy continued, "I don't want to hurt them. You're going to make us hurt people, aren't you?"

The Liberator sighed; there was always one. He grabbed the boy roughly by his hair and climbed into the van, ignoring the child's screams and closing the doors behind him.

…

The other teens looked at their dead friend with tears in their eyes as the Liberator stood over the body, wiping blood from his knife. Blood bubbled from the slit in the boy's throat as his glassy eyes stared blankly up at the roof of the van.

"Anyone else got any problems?" he asked, and the teens shook their heads. "Good. Now go."

They opened the doors of the van and burst out to complete whatever job they'd been assigned, either setting up locking devices or to direct ambulances and cars to other hospitals.

And when they were done, he could finally act.

…

**So yeah people have started getting infected. Things will pick up pretty quickly so kiss your favourite characters goodbye because chances are they will be eaten by zombies.**

**Oh, and Berwald's condition is leukaemia, which is something I honestly didn't think I'd be emotionally capable of writing.**


	7. Lunch

Cheng- Macau

Alin- Romania

Andrei- Moldova

Kim-ly- Vietnam

Carlos- Cuba

Alfonso- Ecuador

Mohammad- Egypt

…

Damn this is late. Still, at least I can say with complete honesty that this will be finished before Halloween… 2015. It'll definitely be finished before then…

More blood and heavy topics in this chapter.

…

Lunch break at last.

Stelios entered the reasonably busy canteen, nodding to a few people he recognised as he made his way towards the queue for food. Luckily he'd been so overworked that he'd got a late lunch and managed to avoid it at its busiest, so now there were plenty of seats to choose from.

On one table, Cheng Wang was helping his elderly father eat soup, despite the man's loud complaints that it tasted awful. On another, a young blonde woman sat drinking a coffee by herself, knowing she couldn't afford to spend the rest of her tenner on food and on another, Alin Radacanu was talking and joking with his little brother, Andrei, to distract the child from the cast binding one of his arms.

Stelios ordered a lasagne, smiling as Kim-ly spooned it onto a plate. She didn't smile back, but then again, she hardly ever smiled when her friend Niran wasn't around. The other member of canteen staff, Eduard, was refilling a tray of chips.

Dr Kirkland was sat at a table with two of the paediatricians, Carlos and Alfonso, and Stelios decided to join them, carrying his tray and greeting them with a smile.

"Hey, Dr Angel," began Carlos, leaning forward with his phone clutched in his hand, "have you heard?"

"Heard what?" Stelios sat down and began shovelling piping-hot pasta into his mouth; who knew how long he had before his pager went off again? He swore that thing was out to get him. Haunted by his own pager? Great, just great.

"What do you mean 'what'?" Alfonso piped up, "this school in Kent was put under lockdown and when the police finally got in, everyone was dead! The kids, the teachers, cleaners, everyone!"

"What? You're joking with me!"

"That's what I thought at first," Arthur told him, "but it's true, apparently. Look." Carlos passed his phone over to Stelios, open on a page in a newspaper's website and the young man's mouth dropped at the news article he was reading.

"But how could something like this happen?" The entire population of a school in Canterbury had been brutally murdered? How was something like this allowed to happen? And so suddenly?

"That's the thing," Carlos spoke up again, leaning back as if happy to be the centre of attention and the one in the know, "the police have no idea either! They're saying it's a terrorist attack, but it doesn't sound like one. And that's not the strangest part."

Stelios leaned in closer. "What is?"

"The bodies," Carlos had the full attention of the table now, "when the forensics examined them, they looked like they'd been dead for weeks. They were all rotten and gross, but they'd only been dead for a few hours."

"What?" Arthur wrinkled his nose, "that's disgusting!"

"How do you even know all this?" Stelios raised an eyebrow.

"It said in a different article," Carlos shrugged, "I'll find it in a moment."

"There's no need," Stelios took another, shaky mouthful of pasta, "I believe you."

"Well I need proof," Arthur stated, "come on. Cough up."

Carlos rolled his eyes, snatching his phone off of Stelios to find another article.

"Safe to say I'll be giving Canterbury a miss," Alfonso commented, "shame. I wanted to visit that Cathedral sometime."

"But this has happened before!" Carlos looked up for a moment, "all over the world! And recently too."

"Yeah?" Stelios exchanged disbelieving glances with Arthur, "where?"

"Two cities in China," Carlos' brows furrowed as he tried to remember, "one in Finland, one in Mali, one in Albania, three in Ethiopia, one in Ecuador."

"What?" Alfonso grabbed the phone off Carlos, "come on that isn't funny! Stop joking around!" He scrolled through the article.

"I'm not joking," said Carlos, voice flat, "trust me, I wouldn't do that to ya. This messed up shit is real."

"I still think it's a hoax," Arthur commented, "not on your part, of course, but the newspapers."

"What? Every newspaper got together to print the same bollocks?" Stelios asked.

"Don't they usually?"

"Yeah, about celebrities and politicians, maybe," Carlos said, "but something like this? They know they'd be in a whole mess of trouble for making up a story about kids dying. If it's a hoax, then that would be pretty fucking twisted."

"Will there be an inquiry?" Stelios had forgotten about his pasta now.

"Of course!" cried Alfonso, "right?" He turned to Carlos, who nodded.

"Well I'm officially miserable," Stelios rested his head in his hands, giving a long sigh, "I think I'll talk to someone else, if it's all the same to you." He stood up, taking his tray with him, "excuse me, gentlemen."

He'd just seen Mr Mohammad Hassan sit down at a table in the corner and was eager to talk to him. He was fond of Mohammad, a quiet young man who had been sectioned a few weeks ago after taking an overdose. A neighbour had found him and he had no living friends or family, and because of that, Stelios felt rather protective of him. He wanted to help him in any way that he could, even though there was little he could do other than prescribe medicine and book appointments with therapists, but it didn't seem to be enough. Mohammad seemed almost dead behind his eyes, and every tiny, daily task was a struggle for him, even getting up. He had been admitted to the psychiatric ward so they could keep watch on him, and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. Then again, he'd not been around other people much since his mother died.

It was talking to people like Mohammad that made Stelios want to go into psychiatrics, whilst talking to Angelique made him want to go into radiography, talking to Dr Davies made him want to go into surgery.

And talking to Dr Kirkland made him want to run away and join the circus.

Still, he had a whole year as a junior doctor to decide what field he wanted to go into, although psychiatrics was somewhat in the lead.

"Hey, how are you?" he greeted as he sat down.

"Could be better," Mohammad admitted, giving a tired smile. Dark rings hung under his eyes and he poked at a plate of pasta half-heartedly with a fork.

"Of course."

"Nice to see you're getting a chance to sit down," Mohammad commented, "bet you've been running around all day without a break."

"Same old," Stelios shrugged, "still, this hospital isn't going to run itself."

"Of course," Mohammad looked around, "there's quite a few people here. I can't help but wonder about their lives."

"I try not to."

"Yet I'm willing to guess you know all their stories, huh?"

"Hardly," Stelios replied, continuing to eat, "and if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Confidentiality and all."

"Oh go on," Mohammad gave a small smile, "I won't tell anyone."

There was a lonely edge to his voice that pulled at Stelios' heart strings and he found himself complying against his better judgement, leaning closer and hoping one of his fellow doctors didn't overhear them.

"Okay, I don't know too much, but you see the man with his elderly father?" Mohammad glanced behind him and nodded, "well, that's Cheng, and what happened to his father, Yao, was pretty damn bad."

"What happened?"

Stelios covered his mouth with a hand, "ugh, the poor guy has had arthritis for years now and he was moved into an old people's home. And Cheng kept trying to visit but his job makes him go on all these business trips."

"Yes?" Mohammad glanced at the duo nervously.

"Then he had to go to Macau for a few months for a work thing, and when he came back he went to visit Yao."

"And?"

"He seemed in pain, and when he took him to hospital we found these awful bedsores."

"Bedsores?" Mohammad's eyes widened.

"Yeah, proper bad ones that you only get after weeks in bed without being turned. They were freaking neglecting him."

Mohammad covered his mouth. "Hasn't anyone done anything?"

"Cheng complained but it's not done much good," Stelios shrugged, "but at least Mr Wang's on the mend."

"I see…"

"Um," Stelios looked around the room, "who else do I know here? Oh, see those two brothers?"

"Yeah?" Mohammad looked over at Alin and Andrei.

"Well, the little one broke his arm trying to fly. Jumped out of a tree, apparently. The other brother was in tears when he phoned for an ambulance, so much so that the kid had to comfort him despite having the fracture."

"That's pretty brave," Mohammad commented.

"Yeah. Lucky he's getting better too."

"I see," Mohammad glanced over Stelios' shoulder at Elise, still sipping her coffee. "Who's that?"

Stelios followed his gaze and shrugged. "No idea."

"New?"

"Probably. Or from a ward I never visited." He looked at the couple sat at the table next to her and winced. "The Edelsteins. Now those two have an interesting story."

"Go on."

"Well, all I know is that the pair are having some marital problems. Soon to be divorced and barely speaking to each other. That is, until their kid, Franz, got pneumonia."

"Well that's hardly a big deal," Mohammad commented.

"That's what the GP thought at first, and prescribed some antibiotics, like you're supposed to. But then he got really sick, like, scary sick. His parents brought him in after he passed out and the doctors found out he'd gotten septicaemia too. Been in hospital ever since whilst we pump antibiotics into him."

"And will he get better?" asked Mohammad quietly.

"Who knows? I hope so…" Stelios glanced back at Franz's parents. They weren't looking at each other. Roderich sat wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, hands trembling. Érzsebét was staring off into the distance with teary eyes, not noticing her husband's occasional glances in her direction.

"I hope they manage to work things out," he commented, "they're still not talking much, but I bet when they do, things will get better between them."

"Then Franz will get better and they can be a family," Mohammad finished, voice tinted with emotion that caused Stelios to look back at him, staring for a long moment.

"And how are you?" he asked.

"Struggling," Mohammad admitted. "I don't know why you're all bothering, to be honest."

"Because you're our patient and we want to help you? Because you're a person in need?"

Mohammad didn't reply.

"Hey," Stelios tried again, "no one said it was gonna be easy. These things take time, right?"

"But what if I don't want help?"

"Well then as your doctor, I'm telling you to get help."

"You don't even work on my ward! Not really anyway." Mohammad stuck out his tongue.

"Yes, but I went through medical school. Besides, you're my friend and it kills me to see you like this."

Mohammad just sighed.

…

Arjun could feel a headache coming on.

He touched the scratches on his cheek and winced, pain shooting through his face. On the other side of the room, Monique was whimpering and crying softly as Dr Davies tried to stitch her up. Arjun tried not to notice how every time they would stitch her up, the stitches would dissolve in seconds.

The other patients were just as bad, groaning and complaining about the heat and bright light. Arjun wasn't sure what they meant, until he glanced up and hissed at the intense overhead light. Had it always been this bright? Why wasn't Hunapo aware?

Arjun was at on the edge of a hospital bed in a rather crowded side-room as Dr Davies rushed between injured people, trying their best to patch them up, though it seemed nothing worked.

Arjun's headache had worsened now, and he ran a hand through his hair, hissing in pain.

"Oh not you too," Dr Davies sighed, still trying to close up the gaping hole in Monique's face and throwing a pack of paracetamol in their colleague's direction. "Take that and wait 'til I get to you."

Arjun didn't get a chance to reply, because at that moment, Monique lunged forward and bit into Dr Davies' arm, electric-blue eyes brimming with malice.


	8. Infestation

_Can't believe it's nearly been a month since I last updated. Sorry everyone! I'll try to give this a few more updates aha._

…

Niran briefly left his patients to check on Dr Davies' progress, and to ask about the victims, per requests of their friends and family.

Victims. The word made him uneasy. Victims of what exactly? A human attack? It didn't seem like one. And besides, they weren't dead yet.

Well, most weren't, Niran thought with a grimace as he walked past the A&E waiting room, cordoned off as more medical staff began to move bodies to the morgue.

The incident was still fresh in his mind. Something like that would never leave him, for as long as he lived. He feared he wouldn't be able to sleep with the memories. It was the brutality of the attacks that shocked him most. How could anyone inflict that level of damage to another human being? And with their fucking mouth.

As he walked down the corridor, Niran recalled how the thing-that-had-been-Tsvetan seemed to have attacked in a pattern. After taking a single bite out of Monique's face and doing the same to a few of the patients, only then did he actually try to kill his victims. Niran didn't understand it at all. The whole situation was just too odd.

A shriek made his head snap up, looking at a door just ahead of him; worryingly, it had come from his destination, where Dr Davies, Monique and Arjun were being kept. What was going on now?

The door burst open and Dr Davies fell out, trying to fend off a growling Monique with their one uninjured arm. Patients spilled out either side of them, screaming and running, some didn't get very far, and collapsed on the floor as they transformed into the same monsters before turning on their peers. Arjun was among them, calling out to Niran the moment he spied him and running to his friend. The pair set off back down the corridor, clutching each other's hands and stumbling this way and that.

"What the hell happened?" Niran cried.

"I don't know! Monique just went crazy and started attacking Hunapo!"

"Do you think she's turned into the same thing as that other guy?"

"Seems so," Arjun looked ill, "this whole thing is a mess!"

"Yeah…" Niran watched as Arjun stumbled slightly, clutching his head and hissing in pain. His eyes fell on the scratches across Arjun's cheek and his stomach sank. No, not him too…

"I'm okay," Arjun gasped, "just got a bit of a headache." He glanced back at the chaos behind them and stood up straight. "C'mon!"

"No!" Niran grabbed him by his collar and pushed him back so Arjun smacked his head against the wall before sliding to the floor with a whimper.

"Niran?"

"No! No!" Niran backed away, "you're gonna turn into one of them!"

Arjun coughed weakly, looking up as blood began dribbling from his chin, "…please?"

"If you knew what was good for me you'd not follow!" Niran took off again down the corridor, glancing round to find that he'd abandoned Arjun just in time, as the latter was now standing up and glaring at him with bright orange eyes, the human he once was wiped away forever.

Niran didn't look back again, opting for running as fast as he could instead. He only paused to yell at the medical staff in the waiting room to run before taking off again. He had to get back to his patients. He had to keep them safe.

But now he was leading the monsters right to them.

How was this happening? What sort of Hollywood bullshit was happening right now? People were turning into zombies right before him, and Niran truly didn't know what to do. He'd always ignored people discussing what they'd do in the event of a zombie apocalypse because he never believed it would happen. It was all nonsense! Yet here he was now, running for his life from something he'd dismissed as fictitious horror.

He burst into Children's A&E and slammed the door behind him, throwing his weight against it whilst Arjun tried to tear it open on the other side. He yelled for his patients to barricade the door with furniture, and the ones who could did so, dragging tables and chairs over until there was enough of a blockade that Niran felt it was safe to let go.

He stood back from the door, wincing at each bang and crash as monsters threw their weight against it. His patients looked at him for an explanation, but he found he couldn't give one. He saw that some were desperately sick, and couldn't even stand by themselves. They needed treatment but there was no doctor left to help them. It was too dangerous to keep them in a hospital full of monsters, and Niran realised he was left with one choice.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be moved to a different hospital," he told them, "it's not safe here anymore."

"What do you mean?" one man asked.

"What about my mother?" asked a young woman, "she was bitten by that man."

"I'm afraid there's nothing that can be done for the patients who were attacked," Niran said regretfully, "they're all dead."

"What?" his patients erupted into a barrage of questions. "How could that happen? Are you lying? Why wasn't anything done to prevent it?"

"I'm sorry, but it seems they were infected with a virus or something," Niran tried to come up with a logical explanation, more for his own benefit than anyone else's, "it made them aggressive and sick before killing them and it's spreading through the hospital fast. I have to get you all out of here before you're infected too." Made sense. And everyone seemed to have bought it to some degree.

The patients slowly began filing out of another door, supporting those who couldn't stand by themselves whilst Niran hung back. He paged Dr Kirkland, darting to a nearby phone to explain the situation- a struggle since Dr Kirkland was determined he was just tired and hallucinating- and ask him to warn everyone and start the evacuation process, before he followed the others into the corridor, slowly directing them towards the exit.

Every movement could be their last, and Niran would be lying if he said he wasn't terrified. Still, he had to remain professional, and make sure everyone stayed alive. With Arjun and the others gone, he was the most senior staff present and the patients were his responsibility.

He thought of Arjun, of the pain he must've been in, and the fear as he'd turned into a monster. He missed his friend so much, horrified at the murderous shell he'd been reduced to. He thought of Kim-ly too, his other dear friend who was still trapped in a different part of the hospital. There was no way to warn her of the danger, and just hoped she would get out before something bad could happen.

He'd already lost one friend and couldn't bear for it to happen again.

But all thought of Kim-ly and Arjun were pushed from his mind when he caught a small child staring at him, waiting for directions like the rest of the group.

"Right, this way then," he said, marching on.

…

Stelios jumped as a hand tapped his shoulder. He glanced up to find a rather irritable Dr Kirkland glaring down at him.

"Yes?"

"I want you to help me with something, Dr Angel," he began, "Mr Mookjai just paged me to say people in A&E were being attacked and turned into monsters. The man's fucking high or something, but I want you to check it out with me."

Stelios exchanged glances with a confused Mohammad before turning back to Arthur.

"Um, I'd rather not," he said, the conversation with Carlos still fresh in his mind and the sudden mention of monsters so shortly afterwards spooking him. "I still have some of my lunch left."

"Dr Angel I wasn't making a request, I was giving you an order," he closed his eyes and sighed, "because Mr Mookjai didn't just babble out some nonsense about monsters, he also informed me that several patients are injured, along with some of the doctors, and that is far more concerning news in my opinion."

"So you need me to help patch everyone up?" Stelios shrugged, standing up, "wish you'd said that before."

"Regardless, just come with me." Dr Kirkland walked away; Stelios pulled a face and said goodbye to Mohammad before following.

"So, Arthur," he began once they were outside.

"It's Dr Kirkland to you."

"Anyway, Arthur, what was Niran saying about monsters?" Stelios had to jog to keep up with Dr Kirkland's stride, despite being the taller of the two.

"A load of waffle, really," he replied curtly, eye twitching, "he seemed to be a nervous wreck though. But pot does that to you."

"How can you be so sure he was on drugs?" Stelios raised an eyebrow.

"Well what other explanation can there be? Alcohol, I suppose, but really, Dr Davies, Dr Bonnefoy and Dr Kapur turning into zombies? It sounds so illogical."

"Dr Davies is hurt?" Stelios stopped, "are they okay?"

"I don't know," Arthur sighed.

"Don't you think after what Carlos said about that school in Kent that it's just too much of a coincidence that Niran reports something like this? What if it's about to happen again?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur snapped, though even he seemed uncertain. "Carlos was just pulling a sick practical joke."

"Carlos doesn't do practical jokes and you know that," Stelios growled.

"Alright, so he was duped by some internet trolls? The article has to be fake."

"So you've convinced yourself it was bollocks?" Stelios sighed, "come on Arthur, you're cynical but not this blind."

"Well maybe you're just gullible," Arthur shot back.

"Harsh, old man."

"Shut up, do you hear that?" Arthur stopped, listening hard. The corridor was empty and silent, save for the faint sound of footsteps and a low growling. The pair exchanged nervous glances before Dr Davies came stumbling around the corner, or, at least, what was left of them did.

Like Tsvetan, Monique and Arjun, Hunapo Davies had been stripped to the bare shreds of their existence, nothing more than a ravenous monster bent on murder and destruction.

And Stelios and Arthur might just be their next targets.

The pair stood in silence for a few moments, locking eyes with Dr Davies' wild, neon ones.

Then the zombie lunged and Stelios and Arthur shrieked before wheeling round and running back down the corridor.


End file.
